


Dream a Little Dream of Me

by lantia4ever



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jarvis ships it, M/M, Pining, Pluto feels, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Prompt Fill, Protective Bucky Barnes, Slow Burn, Steve is a meanie, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Tumblr: imaginetonyandbucky, big bags of insecurities, cheesy flirting, maybe too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 20:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lantia4ever/pseuds/lantia4ever
Summary: Prompt by Evererin (tumblr): Tony has terrible nightmares, but because of the chair Bucky no longer gets dreams at all (which makes him feel less human). Cue trying to support each other even when they are kinda jealous.Added a spoonful of angst and sprinkled it with fluff and fun for a lovely WinterIron recipe! <3





	Dream a Little Dream of Me

**Author's Note:**

> After writing some heavy WinterIron stuff lately, this was a nice little thing to write alongside it to relax and sit back a bit ^^ So have a beautiful end of the weekend and enjoy! <3
> 
> Title and the referenced song in the fic is of course Dream a little dream of me by Ella Fitgerald.
> 
> Written for the imaginetonyandbucky blog on tumblr!

_**Bucky's POV** _

 

I shuffle into the kitchen, nodding at the two early-bird occupants in greeting.

“Morning to you too, grumpy,” Clint rolls his eyes and extends his hand to me, holding a large pot of coffee. “Here, try the Stark Potion of Life.”

I sit down, glaring at the offering. It’s a nice gesture from the archer, but the sight of the sloshing dark black beverage turns my stomach. And to think he called it a _Potion of Life_.

Ridiculous.  

“Yeah, good decision, dude,” Sam clasps a firm hand on my shoulder and it takes all of my regained self-control and then some to not flinch away or worse – murder the birdman where he sits next to me. “That thing could kill an Asgardian demi-god with the caffeine high it induces. No idea what Stark puts into it but it should come with a biohazard warning.”

“True, but it can also revive dead people,” Clint shrugs, putting the pot back on the far side of the table. “Tony resurrects with it every morning.”

“S’what he gets for staying up so late in the workshop. JARVIS should set a curfew for him,” Sam suggests and removes his offending limb from my arm so he can continue to munch down on his sandwich.

“ _I assure you, Mister Wilson, I have such protocols to execute, if needed_ ,” JARVIS replies and this time I do flinch at the unexpected sound.

Even after months spent in the Tower, I still can’t shake off the jumpiness. At first I – and everyone else – thought it was just because it’s a new place for me, full of unknown things just waiting to catch me off guard. So they said it’s completely normal and fine, that I’ll get used to it.

But I’m _not_ getting used to it.

No matter how comfortable I feel around the other Avengers, the moment one of them breaks into my personal bubble, I all but physically shrink and have to will myself not to push them away – or straight up run away.

JARVIS’s disembodied voice never fails to startle me no matter how careful the AI is with me – I appreciate that he at least noticed my anxiousness and always tries to announce himself first somehow, in a lowered voice too, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference to my fried brain.  

The Avengers on the other hand have little regard for my personal space or the discomfort they cause with breeching it - mainly because Steve doesn’t and mainly because I don’t have the heart to stop them. I shrugged Steve’s friendly hand off my back once and the face he made? I’m not quite ready to see that one again.

Everyone is just so nice to me even if they have all the reasons not to be. I don’t wanna ruin that even if it’s starting to threaten the bits and pieces of my remaining sanity.

“Sweet! What was it about?” Clint brings me out of my reverie with his excited whistle.

“What do ya think,” Sam wiggles his eyebrows.

“Oooooh, dirty dreams. Tell me _everything_ ,” Clint folds his hands flat on the table in front of him, leaning closer. “Who was it?”

“Nah uh! I ain’t kiss and tellin’!” Sam pouts, leaning away from the table.

“A-hah! So there _was_ kissing! Alright, now we’re getting somewhere!”

I watch the two bird men – as Stark affectionately calls them – trying to look neutral. Although the idea of fleeing the room without a word is an option I’m starting to consider.

“You’re married, dude. You don’t need frisky dreams, you’ve got real life!”

It’s Clint’s time to pout, but he aims it my way. “Married…so what? It’s gossip! Friskier the better, right? Soooo?” he adds, regaining his mischievous grin.

“So?” I repeat and let a little bit of the Winter Soldier creep into my stare, despite trying to avoid everything connected to the HYDRA-made assassin. I know what Clint’s up to – he has this discussion with the rest of the team every morning, but I always manage to dodge it. Not today it seems.

Where is everyone this morning anyway?!

“What about your dream? Anything gossip worthy?”

Sam leans back on the table in apparent interest and that’s where I seriously think about the run and hide maneuver.

I would love to answer his question, in high details, I really would. I’ve got issues, I know that. A little bit of small talk between guys is not one of them though.

Only if it wasn’t this damn topic.

“I…don’t remember,” I reply, hoping the lazy shrug gives my statement more credibility than my voice.

I remember. Every little detail – in fact. The empty, dark nothingness that are my dreams is not that difficult to remember.

“Boooring,” Clint groans and buries his head back into the cornflake bowl.

I didn’t lie to him completely, to be honest. I don’t even remember the last time I properly dreamt. It was way before HYDRA, that’s for sure. But since my scattered memory is being difficult even at providing me with names and faces of my long lost friends, remembering dreams or the process of dreaming itself was out of the question.

I tried all kinds of things to coax my subconscious into dreaming. Just one short silly dream. Hell, even a nightmare, just _something_.

Instead, I close my eyes and see nothing. I fall asleep and see nothing. And when I wake up, that’s how it makes me feel.

Like _nothing_.

It’s what HYDRA wanted me to be and the sons of bitches succeeded. After the chair, the conditioning, the mistreatment - there were no dreams. Even when they put me under and let me frozen to be used later for weeks, months and even years, I still dreamt of nothing. And it served as a perfect reminder of what I was – the Winter Soldier. An empty shell of a weapon for HYDRA to wield and nothing more.

I don’t know why this particular thing bothers me so much, but it does. It’s like HYDRA decided to take everything away from me – everything that made me human. Even the smallest of things like dreams. So now that I’m trying to take control of my life back, I can’t seem to piece my humanity back together, no matter how far I reach. And everyone around just reminds me how broken beyond repair I really am.

They laugh, joke, hug and bicker playfully with each other.

_Dream at night_.

And I can’t do any of that, not without faking it. How do I even begin to fake dreaming?!

“Jeeeez…I think I’ve just seen all the way down to your bowels, Tony, what the hell?” Clint cringes, looking over my shoulder.

I glance behind me just in time to see Stark finish what must have been a huge yawn and his admittedly exhausted face then twists into a squinty glare, burning through Clint’s head. It quickly melts away though when Clint once again makes the coffee offering.

The engineer’s eyes light up at the sight and in two long strides he’s by the table, letting Clint pour an unhealthy amount of the black liquid into his large, crimson mug.

“Resurrecting twice in one day? Did you have _that_ bad of a night?” Clint asks, putting the pot once again as far from them as possible, as if the coffee is a hazard just by proximity.

Stark halts his gulping for a second there and stiffens. With a nonchalant shrug he then rounds Clint to sit down near the coffee pot like nothing happened but I notice the momentary slip. “How about _three_ nights…Fury’s goddamn project is giving me a headache,” he explains further and something about it just doesn’t feel right. Both Clint and Sam just chuckle, clearly not finding anything wrong with his explanation.

“What does the Lord of the Kinks want now?” Clint snickers, but Stark doesn’t seem to share his amusement. And that’s a red light right there.

I don’t know the man very well – from all the Avengers I probably know Stark the least – but whenever he graces the team with his presence, even in these early mornings, he never fails to brightly smile and respond to Clint’s jokes in kind. I was trained to notice these things – or rather, the Winter Soldier was. Paying attention to the surroundings and the people was vital to missions, after all. And it’s probably the only part of the Soldier programming I don’t mind, because it allows me at least some insight while my social skills remain to be questionable.

“What do you think? He leveled _three_ helicarriers with the ground. I would tell him to go demand new ones from HYDRA, but I doubt they would indulge him…as if they even could with their next to nonexistent technical skills,” he snorts into his mug, taking another long gulp. His eyes travel across the table, resting on my left hand with a frown, but at the same time with a spark of interest.

Steve warned me right away that the engineer will try to get _his_ hands on _my_ hand as soon as I move into the Tower. To be honest, I dreaded that more than meeting Natasha – again. But contrary to Steve’s warning, Stark merely offered me the option to come down to the workshop for repairs if needed and made no attempts to touch or handle the metal arm in any way since, clearly surprising everyone.

Now that I think about it, it’s not just the metal arm but the whole of my person that Stark stays clear from. Not that he would outright walk in gigantic circles around me or simply not even walk inside a room I’m in, but unlike the rest of the Avengers, Stark doesn’t touch.

No clasping on the shoulder like Thor and Sam, no half-hugging like Steve and Clint, no sudden – albeit gentle – hand on my forearm like from Natasha or Bruce and not even any prompt for high-fives like from Rhodey. Stark partakes in the hugs and such with the others but never with me, specifically.

I’m grateful, really. But at the same time suspicious as to why. Maybe he doesn’t like me, hates me…is afraid of me? But other than the touching, the engineer doesn’t behave any different around me, isn’t ignoring, glaring or otherwise mean to me.

It’s so confusing.

“You gotta save me and my gossip fix for the day then!” Clint demands after another minute of simply complaining about Fury. “Sam refuses to share his frisky dream with me, this dude doesn’t remember his and Nat said she would tell me…but would also have to kill me afterwards so…you’re my only hope, man!”

Stark does the thing again – pauses mid sip for enough time for a trained eye to notice, body tensing and face neutral before falling back into the act. Because that’s what I recognize it as – an act. And here I thought I cornered the market on acting.

“Sorry, bird-brain. Haven’t done much sleeping, remember? The double resurrection,” he adds, pointing at his second big mug of coffee this morning.

“Ah…damn! What now?” Clint whines, moving the half-empty cornflakes bowl away.

“Wait for Thor to wake up,” Stark suggests casually. “He will definitely have some frivolous magicky dream story for you.”

Clint groans and finally collapses onto the table, head buried in his hands. “Never again,” he raises his head only for a moment to squint at Stark. “Last time he spent an hour telling me how he talked to a toaster in his dream. _A toaster_. A _talking_ toaster.”

“And then he tried actually talking to this one,” Sam chuckles, nodding at the toaster on the counter.

“So much for that…and I’m not waiting for Cap to tell me all about his vanilla walk in the park or whatever, seriously. His dreams are more boring than his war stories.”

“Hey now,” Sam glares at him. “Those are pretty funny!”

“The _first_ time around. After a dozen it gets a bit…repetitive,” Clint returns the glare.

The two of them start discussing the other Avengers’ dream stories, while Stark quietly continues to sip on his coffee at the other side of the table.

I’ve had enough.

After yet another dreamless night I really don’t need to sit here listening to this. So I get up without a word and leave, hoping perhaps a run could settle my thoughts.

I catch Stark’s frown following me on my way out but try not to think too much about it.

 

* * *

 

A week later, I get a rare day to himself in the Tower. The team is attending some charity gala in New Jersey and I am more than happy to pass up on that one. Steve’s utterly disappointed face almost made me reconsider but Stark just casually grabbed the supersoldier and dragged him away.

_“Keep this sad puppy look for the gala, Cap. The charity will score big numbers if you use it right.”_

Steve stuttered all the way out of the common room but thankfully didn’t broach the subject since then.

Gotta thank the engineer for the subtle intervention. If I get a chance, because obviously meeting the man is as difficult for the Avengers as it is for a regular member of the public. Unless a man is brave enough to venture into the workshop so yeah, I’m okay to admit cowardice. The thought of a room entirely made of unknown devices is less than inviting and it makes meeting Stark almost impossible. With the exception of chance morning meetings in the kitchen and even those are now rare.

Either way, I’ve been looking forward to this day. Just one day and night to spend all alone in the Tower, no Avengers to encounter, no uncomfortable situations to endure…no need to be on guard with myself around the others. I wanna enjoy that while it lasts.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Would ya mind…not talkin’ to me today? Unless it’s an emergency of course,” I immediately add and find myself fidgeting on the spot.

“I understand, Sergeant, I shall not disturb you unless necessary. In the future you can simply say the command ‘mute’ for the same and immediate effect.”

I cringe at the suggestion and look up. “I think I prefer askin’ rather than commandin’. But thanks.”

“No problem, Sergeant. Enjoy your day,” he wishes and goes into silent mode.

I sprawl on the huge sofa – something I’ve wanted to do for a while, but it’s usually overcrowded. Well, two other people and I’m already thinkin’ overcrowded.

But this time there’s absolutely nobody around so I can just drop onto the soft cushions and do something I haven’t done since the forties.

_Relax_.

First I watch some random documentary channel on the TV, then find a weird comedy movie about things coming back to life at night in a museum and I figure why the hell not watch that too - surprisingly until the end, even catching myself breaking into a smile couple of times.

After noon I clear out the fridge of all the leftovers from last night’s all-you-can-eat pizza buffet and then fetch a detective novel from the barely used library and read it until the sun all but settles behind New York’s skyline.

Even though I didn’t do anything the entire day I still somehow manage to doze off on the really comfy couch - and once again fall into the scary depths of my blank mind.

Only this time it’s scarier than ever before.

I jolt awake hours later, everything around me covered in darkness of the night and only then I realize that what I’ve been looking forward to the entire week is in fact something I should have dreaded instead.

_I’m all alone here_.

Abandoned in the cold and the dark and the Tower as empty as the dreams. I might as well be back in a HYDRA cell, locked up in the freezing cryo pod with only my brainwashed vacant mind keeping me company, not even dreams to occupy it. Only now, with everyone gone it dawns on me just how terrified that makes me feel.

I might have complained about being crowded by the others, but their presence _is_ reassuring. And their lack of presence sends me on the verge of panic.

“ _Sergeant Barnes?_ ” Jarvis’s voice makes me jump from the couch and three feet into the air but it’s nothing compared to what it does to the person that just entered the common floor’s living room. It jumps just as high and backs into the wall with an audible thud.

“Sweet motherfucking Jesus in a baby fucking manger! What the _fuck_?! Fuck!” comes the litany of unsavory curses from the person my still panicking brain registers as Stark, now leaning against the wall with eyes wide and a hand protectively sprawled across his chest. He must have returned from the gala recently because he’s still wearing the tux pants and shirt, just lost the jacket and bowtie somewhere. “Barnes?! The…the _fuck_ are you lurking in the dark here for?!” he blurts out between heavy breaths.

Something finally clicks back together in my head and it makes me go from panicky and scared to annoyed in a second. “What are _you_ lurking in here for?! I thought…thought you were at the gala,” I finish more softly, seeing that the engineer is about as close to a panic attack as I’ve been moments ago.

Stark stares me down almost as if he was making sure it _is_ me he’s really seeing before he slumps a bit, swallowing on air. “Right…forgot you stayed here today…,” he mumbles to himself.

JARVIS brings the lights slowly back up without a word and I can finally, truly inspect the unexpected visitor. One look is quite enough to see the damage.

The disheveled look isn’t new - that’s what he looks like every time he emerges from the workshop, but the ashen-white face only marred by the pitch black circles under his eyes and streamlines of dried tears _is_ new. I thought I knew the definition of dead tired, but it’s apparently staring me in the face right now.

“When was the last time you slept?!” I ask and before I can think about it I reach for the other man’s face to take a better look. I catch the spark of utter horror in Stark’s eyes just in time to freeze on the spot, the hand awkwardly hanging in the air until I slowly retract it.

And suddenly everything about the engineer’s strange behavior makes perfect sense to me. Looks like we might have more in common than I thought.

I take a step back, leaving plenty of space between us and raise both hands in a defensive gesture. Not a single move escapes Stark’s wide, scanning eyes. “S’rry,” I apologize, voice low.

The expressive wild brown eyes snap to my cold gray ones and I can safely say I’ve never seen anyone looking so… _lost_.

Stark breaks the eye contact and raggedly shakes his head. When he glances back my way his usual collected façade is back. “Forget it. You just…scared me shitless. Thanks for the heads up, Jay, you’re a real bro,” he frowns at the ceiling.

“ _My apologies, Sir, but if I was to follow the Tiptoe protocols I couldn’t have done more_ ,” the AI replies quietly and this time it’s me frowning at the omnipresent voice.

Tiptoe _what_?

“Oh…nevermind then. I was on my way to the…uh,” he looks around, still frowning, “…the workshop.”

“You sleep in the workshop?” I blurt out, unimpressed by Stark’s obvious evasive lie.

“I sleep wherever the hell I want! What are you, the new sleeping habits inspector? Did Rogers resign?”

I’m taken aback by the outburst for a second, but since I’ve been the one trying to avoid the topic of sleep for as long as I’ve been in the Tower, I can see through Stark’s abrasiveness like it was a crystal clear window. “Maybe,” I fold my arms and raise a challenging eyebrow – a look I’ve given one skinny little blonde kid many times back in the days. “You obviously haven’t slept in days so there’s nothing to inspect anyway.”

Stark laughs humorlessly, openly glaring at me now. “Well aren’t you a genius! You were clearly getting _your_ beauty sleep before I intruded, so let me leave you to it again, Sherlock. I’ll be in the workshop – doing whatever the hell I want!” he storms past me to the elevator and impatiently waits for it to arrive.

But it doesn’t.

“JARVIS?! Are you - ”

“ _I am also following the SWD protocols, Sir. Which means you are not allowed in the workshop_.”

Stark flails, kicking the elevator door with his right foot. “I’m gonna reprogram you into an online Bingo announcer one of these days, I swear to God, J! Hell, I’ll send you to every Bingo spot in Florida!”

“SWD protocols?” I ask, not bothering to hide my curiosity but also not really expecting an answer. Apparently JARVIS is feeling talkative though - no wonder after the whole day of silence.

“ _I believe the full designation is ‘you can Sleep When you’re Dead’ protocol. I initiate it whenever somebody doesn’t properly sleep for over fifty hours_.”

“Fif… _fifty hours_?! You haven’t slept for _fifty hours_?! Are you insane?!” I walk toward Stark, trying to keep my voice low but the anger seeps through nonetheless. Not sure why this revelation makes me so angry but it does – maybe it was the engineer’s overall lack of care about the fact he’s a walking corpse.

“Seventy-three, actually,” Stark whips around, the glare still firmly in place. “And yes, I am absolutely insane! Do you know who you’re talking to? Of course I’m insane!”

My frown eases into a simple confused stare and I stop my advance; again, far enough to not be imposing. “Just…go to sleep,” I stutter out, cringing at the advice. It feels like talking to a three-year old that refuses to be tucked in and foolishly thinking that telling him “Sleep now!” is gonna work.

Stark once again barks out that ugly laugh, stripped of all and any amusement and he actually takes a few steps forward, bordering on the lines of our personal spaces. “ _Just go to sleep_ ,” he repeats in disbelieve. “Wow. If I knew you were the resident Dr. Phil, I wouldn’t have wasted so much money on useless therapists. Tell me doc, how do I _just go to sleep_ when every time I fall asleep some bullshit nightmare wakes me up within minutes, hm?! I enjoy horror movies as much as the next guy, but I don’t really appreciate my own personal horror show every time I fucking close my eyes! So I’m sorry if I’m not indulging in the whole sleep thing like you, asshole Steve and all the rest of this bunch of shrinks in disguise would like me to, but I’d rather retain my sanity and just keep passing out of exhaustion or whatever! What?!” he yells, watching my stunned expression like he’s never seen someone look at him this way before. “Nothing keeping _you_ awake at night?! Confuckingratulations to you then!” He all but screams and turns away from me.

“Yeah…nothing keeps me awake at night. ‘S exactly that. _Nothin_ g,” I hear myself say. No idea what’s gotten into me but I guess it’s only fair to be honest with the guy who just pretty much spilled his own secret right here.

Stark casts me a slightly curious side-ways look, but doesn’t face me.

“I don’t dream at all,” I confess, looking down. I don’t need to see anybody watch me like I’m a monster. They probably all think I am one anyway, so why stare at a living proof of that. “Haven’t had a single one since I…since HYDRA. _That’s_ what’s keeping me awake. The nothing. The nothing they left me with!” My head whips up to meet one wild gaze of Tony Stark.  

Instead of pity or disgust, Stark’s eyes are ablaze. “Are you seriously standing here complaining you’ve got _no_ dreams?! Hell, you even sound like it makes you some kinda monster or something!”

“Because it does!” I snap at the engineer, breeching the so far protected personal space with a couple steps forward.

Stark doesn’t move an inch though, just returns my burning glare. “You do realize not everyone gets dreams, right? There are people that don’t dream at all their whole life! Does that make all of them monsters?! That’s some bullshit reasoning you’ve got there, Barnes!”

“That’s not what I…I didn’t…,” I sigh, the anger deflating. “It’s just _me_. I let HYDRA do this…let them mess with my head until there was nothing left! _Nothing_! So yeah, I’d rather have nightmares all night long instead of being trapped in the same dreamless hell that HYDRA made for me!”

Stark’s form eases a little, but his voice remains strict. “You only say that because you clearly never had nightmares _all night long_. How about all _week_ long? Or _months_?!” he scoffs. “Dreaming of nothing would be my fucking dream come true!”

I stumble back, eyebrows raising in surprise.

Wow.

How ridiculous is _this_?! I’d rather have nightmares, he’d rather not dream at all…what is this even?

“So…can we swap?” I suggest and can’t help a startled chuckle escaping my lips.

Stark’s own lips twitch upward, his posture relaxing for the first time since he appeared in here. I guess he’s come to the same conclusion as I have. “Well, I’m all kinds of jealous right now, just so you know.”

“You have nothing to be jealous of, trust me.”

“Ditto.”

I smile – a small but unexpectedly genuine smile. One I didn’t believe being capable of anymore. “I’m dead serious, Stark.”

He eyes me, that curious spark in his gaze returns as he folds his hands. “And I’m dead tired.”

“No kidding.”

“So,” he flails his arms, looking around with a thoughtful stare. “The night is young…what are we up to?”

“Weren’t ya attending that gala?” I recall and wave a hand pointing to his state of dressing.

“Yep. And then I _left_ that gala. Because I would either fall asleep in the middle of Captain America’s speech, or pass out drunk _after_ it. Neither would be a good idea so I dazzled everyone with my presence, posed for a shot for tomorrow’s front page of Forbes and got the hell out of there,” he explains while shuffling back into the common room and collapsing onto the couch. “As far as anyone’s concerned, I might as well be somewhere underneath the bar there getting drunk as fuck. Bad reputation _can_ be good for something at times like these.”

Times like trying to hide from both the public and the Avengers to…what? Pass out from exhaustion, get some strength back and pretend nothing’s wrong? Is this really how this guy operates?!

I follow him with hesitant steps, stopping in front of my former and his current resting place.

“Anyway…wanna watch a movie? Get your ass smashed in Mario? Or something?”

I’m surprised he’s still conscious and now he wants to watch a movie or play games? _How_?! Then again, no matter how tired I get, the thought of going back to sleep is sometimes enough to keep me going for hours, even days…just to avoid it. Must be the same for him, I guess.

“I dunno,” I shrug and give the TV a thoughtful look. So much for trying to be decisive…

Stark frowns, fumbling with the fabric of his shirt. “What do you do then? When you can’t sleep?”  

“I go for a run,” I think back. “Sometimes I read…”

“Too tired to run. And reading? Seriously?” he snorts and looks up. “J! Fire up the TV! Unless you won’t even let me do _that_ ,” he pouts and I’m gonna blame the chuckle it makes me burst into on my state of the art broken brain.

“ _I would prefer you to go to sleep, Sir. But I suppose I have to meet you half-way, as you like to say_.”

“The AI knows me,” Stark grins, scoots over to the farther side of the couch to make space and slams a hand on the cushion next to him.

I take him up on the invite and sit down, far enough for both of us to be comfortable and I let Stark choose a movie. The TV comes to life with an opening sequence of something called _John Wick_ but I don’t feel like paying attention to it. And glancing over at Stark, I’m not alone in that.

It’s not really about watching the movie, I suppose. More like doing something, anything to get one’s mind off of nightmares and empty dreams and the exhaustion…the fear.

Stark no longer seems on edge but he’s not exactly relaxed either if that small frown is anything to go by.

Maybe a bit of talking will do the trick better than the movie. After all, how often does anyone get a chance to talk to Stark around here? So I ask something that stuck on my mind from few moments ago. “What’s the Tiptoe protocol?”

“Hm? Oh that. J? Would you do the honors?” he delegates it to JARVIS and I could swear what I’m seeing right now is one blushing Tony Stark.

Must be the light.

“ _Certainly. The Tiptoe protocol is a set of rules I operate with when speaking to you or speaking in your presence, Sergeant Barnes. It was designed to improve your reaction to my sudden interruptions over time and also to subtly warn you of other, possibly unexpected events to prevent discomfort to your person_.”

Wow…wait, what? “Discomfort?” Bucky frowns.

“ _Apart from my usual duties I am also charged with monitoring the team’s health, both physical and mental and if possible, take steps to maintain or improve it. In your case, I noticed your anxiety whenever I spoke out of turn, without announcing myself first so I was told to take precautions_.”

“I see,” I nod and glance at Stark again, but the engineer is suddenly finding his admittedly shiny black shoes interesting enough to pointedly stare at them. If someone told JARVIS to _take precautions_ , it must have been Stark. JARVIS may attempt to fulfill the team’s requests but only Stark would be able to _command_ the AI to do something. Especially something like this. “I’ve noticed.”

“ _I am aware you have. If you find it not agreeable I can adjust my behavior further of course to fit your preference_.”

“No! I mean… _no_. This is…it’s nice,” I admit with a warm smile. “Thank you. Sorry for being so troublesome.”

“ _I assure you there is nothing to be sorry for, Sergeant. I have many other protocols and as long as they are helpful I follow them all with pleasure.”_

“Some of them with devious pleasure, let me tell you,” Stark grunts, still avoiding my fleeting glances.

“ _I have absolutely no idea what you are referring to, Sir_ ,” JARVIS replies, feigning innocence.

He never ceases to amaze me. He might as well be another person, just trapped inside a building – that’s how _real_ JARVIS feels to me.

“ _If I could however suggest something, Sergeant Barnes_?”

“Yeah?”

“ _It would also appear to me that the team’s all too…enthusiastic behavior towards you in terms of physical proximity is causing you severe distress – yet you have made no attempts to put a stop to it. I believe simply telling them to have more restraint would have immediate effect_.”

I freeze, eyes shooting upward as if to look at the apparently all-knowing AI.

“Yeah, good luck explaining to Thor he needs to stop his – what does he call it again? SHOULDERCLASPS OF BROTHERHOOD!” Stark perfectly imitates the demi-god’s booming baritone. “Don’t even get me started on Rogers, he uses his puppy-pout as a weapon of mass destruction whenever Barnes so much as - ” he halts, eyes flicking over to me, probably forgetting I am even here. “I mean uh, you know. It’s easily said than done. Or in this case, easily suggested than said.”

It’s a poor attempt to hide the fact Stark is not only aware of my dilemma, but has clearly given it a lot of thought. His distanced behavior towards me suddenly makes so much more sense – he wasn’t doing it unconsciously or because he disliked me and tried to avoid me. He did it out of consideration, _for_ me and my annoying insecurity.

And honestly I haven’t a slightest idea what to do with that information. At least my whirring brain doesn’t. My stomach on the other hand is doing all kinds of weird flips and flops.

“ _I can assure you, Sergeant, that if the team was aware of what their actions were causing they would cease them instantly_.”

“I know,” I breathe out, also finding Stark’s shiny boots interesting right about now, too. “Like I need them to throw more pity at me. It’s fine…I gotta deal with it. I already am, anyw -”

The unexpected hand touching my metal forearm freaks me out enough to bolt from the couch, staring wide-eyed at a very serious looking Stark.

“Yeah, I can tell. You’re basically an epitome of successfully dealing with your problems. Here I was thinking _I_ sucked major balls at that, but looks like I’ve got competition,” he rolls his eyes, sliding off to his side of the couch again. “You think it’s better for yourself if you’re not telling anyone and just quietly sucking it up, but really, you’re just making it worse. Personal experience talking here.”

“This is different…you wouldn’t understand,” I shake my head, willing my racing heart to calm down so the flash of hurt in the engineer’s eyes almost escapes my notice. I wanna punch myself in the face the second I realize what bullshit just left my mouth.

Stark obviously _understands_. Even without me telling him, he understood. And his eyes never watched me with pity or disdain. Just the strange combination of helplessness and resignation at worst of times – like this very moment.

He doesn’t comment on the statement in any way, just shrugs and turns back to the TV like he didn’t mind my words at all. Of fucking-course…because that’s exactly who Tony Stark is – the man who never minds, never complains…never tells anyone even if he does.

_Personal experience talking here._

Not trusting my brain to come up with anything else to say – anything _safe_ to say – I just sit back down and try to follow the action scene of the movie instead. My mind still pays it little to no attention though. It’s the unnerving, gut wrenching sense of disappointment and… _failure_ settling over my heart that grasps my focus.

I’m used to feeling like a disappointment and a failure, but for the first time since I’ve returned from HYDRA _I am_ actually feeling disappointed in me _._ Not Steve. Not anyone else.

It’s all me this time.

For a second there I thought we were having a moment. The friendship-defining kinda moment that I would have welcomed with open arms – metaphorically. But leave it to me and my broken to pieces damn mind to ruin it with one simple sentence that singlehandedly undermined that fragile sense of trust between the two of us.

_Great fucking work, Bucky. Stellar_!

My eyes eventually give up the fight to stay open and I soon start dozing off again, wishing I could take every single one of Stark’s very own nightmares and get stuck with them for the rest of the night; to suffer through them one by one – because I deserve nothing better.

No. I deserve even worse. But sinking willingly into the dark emptiness will have to do for now.

 

 

 

I wake up alone but I can hear muffled voices from the nearby kitchen so the team must have returned. It’s comforting to know they’re back, that they’re here…if a little surprising that they didn’t wake me up.

But it’s really the steaming mug of tea carefully left on a coaster on the table in front of me that soothes my morning nerves and chases off the anxiety in an instant.

And it brings the strangest warmth to my stomach without even drinking it.

 

* * *

 

The days after the ‘incident’ are a blur for me. Loki, Thor’s extravagant brother, decided it’s prime time for some seasonal mischief on Earth and throws an evil overlords’ party in New York for the Avengers to deal with.

Thor said Loki was adopted but damn…someone needs to find the guy some hobby. Only a demi-god bored out of his mind would bring all sorts of funky alien creatures to the middle of Manhattan for an afternoon playdate.

All. Week. Long.

Contrary to Steve’s wishes, I joined the fight the second day, after a gigantic alien bug smashed through the common floor’s windows and disrupted my relaxing round of Smash bros. Thought it was appropriate to join the Hulk and do some smashin’ of my own.

By the end of the week, I didn’t even mind Steve’s disapproving pout when he called the assemble and I just automatically went to suit up as well.

And today is no different.

“You know, I’m starting to suspect your little brother might actually hate you,” Clint says with all the subtle sarcasm he could come up with, glaring at Thor.

“He indeed appears to be in a foul mood! But we shall prevail against these…sluggy…glistening armored fish abominations just like we have prevailed in the past!” Thor booms and doesn’t fail to grab both of Clint’s shoulders in a deathly grip of brotherhood.

“Let’s try _apprehending_ Loki this time, before he slips back into Asgard. _Again_ ,” Steve sighs from the front seat of the quinjet.

Me and Clint drop down first to take the high-ground while the quinjet touches down on the coast and the Avengers pour out to deal with the…sluggy armored fish abominations hands on.

“Alrighty, here we go. Wanna bet who gets more of those little slimy critters?”

“I refuse to be the Gimli to your Legolas,” I roll my eyes and assemble the Stark-designed sniper rifle with precision and speed that’s partly my own, partly the Soldier’s.

“A-ha! So Cap _did_ give you his bucket list of movies you gotta catch up with! Or more like… _Bucky-list_ , amirite?” he snickers, already sending arrows left and right.

Sometimes I wonder if this guy is seriously an adult.

“Shut up and shoot. You’ll need the extra shots if you wanna beat me.”

“And here I thought you don’t wanna be the gruff dwarf to my lean, Elfish awesomeness! I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you.”

“Bullets are faster than arrows,” I point out and take aim at the first fishy beast. When I pull the trigger, the bullet goes straight through its toothy jaw, body going limp and onto the ground.

“We’ll see about that!” he takes the challenge and intensifies his shooting.

It only takes a minute for us to realize we might have a problem. Unless we hit the funky creatures in their weak, unarmored spots of skin, the arrows – and the bullets – ricochet off their armor.

Asgardians and their damn magic.

“Well, so much for this,” I discard the rifle and wire down the building to join the fray up close. Let’s see how resistant the critters are to a metal fist.

“Aw, maaaan,” I hear Clint sputter through the radio and spot him descending down here as well. He might be the master of long-range fights, but he sure doesn’t shy away from some close combat – if necessary.

And this time it _is_ necessary.

Steve and Thor successfully smash the magic-enhanced creatures with their superior shield and hammer combo and Natasha has already switched from deadly bullets to deadly daggers. Sam is flying all around the place, usually just setting up the kills for the others and making sure the perimeter is clear and that’s it. Since Steve ordered both Bruce and Tony to take a day off, we kinda lack the raw smashing power and the devastating Iron Man repulsors.

Or…not?

I watch not three, but five of the armored beasts explode in what is unmistakably repulsor fire and glance up just in time to spot the flash of gold and crimson. Something about a fully weaponized flying suit of armor is just so damn cool…so who can blame me for observing it throughout the past few battles. _Very closely_. Purely out of curiosity and…tactical reasons. Yeah, all about tactics.

Speaking of which, there’s a disapproving Captain America about to have a fit in the comms in three, two, one…

“Iron Man! I told you to stay in the Tower for this one!”

Here we go.

“Oh. Did you? I could swear you said _play_ in the _shower_ …which I did and now I’ve come to play here. So rude not to invite me to a party like this, Capsicle!”

“As much as I would argue about the party bit – again – we could actually use an extra hand here, couldn’t we?” Natasha saves us from Steve’s imminent lecture for now and everyone resumes their fighting efforts.

Loki is nowhere to be found this time, which is bad news. He’s either getting bored of this himself, or he’s on the lookout for more weird aliens to send our way tomorrow.

Twenty minutes later, the coast is clear. Kinda. It’s full of dead, slimy fishy bodies that are already starting to smell worse than before.

“Alright, let’s check the perimeter, make sure we’ve got them all. Someone is going to have to deal with all these,” Steve commands and looks around the graveyard of a battlefield.

“I’ve called it in. Fury should be here with the clean-up crew any minute. He likes sushi so this should be right up his alley,” Tony chuckles and lifts off. “See ya back in the shower. I mean Tower.”

I don’t even have to turn around to know that deep sigh of utter desperation comes from our mighty leader. He orders us back to the quinjet and within minutes we are back in the Avengers Tower, safe and sound.

Safe from the aliens at least. The fury on Steve’s face as he spots the disobedient engineer at the bar with Bruce could only be rivaled by the fury on Fury’s face when he sees the mess we’ve left in there for him to clean up.

“What were you thinking?!”

“Hm? Oh, I was thinking we could skip shawarma and go for double Shirley Temple’s all around. Or a Roy Rogers for you if you fancy something alcoholic, it’s past five so we can do that without Bruce calling the AA. Here, have one,” Tony hands the drink with an over-the-top umbrella to the rapidly advancing Captain, not expecting what happens next.

To be fair, nobody really expects Steve to slap that cocktail out of Tony’s hand with enough force to cause an audible smack and all but lift him off the bar stool, hand twisted into his shirt’s collar.

“I gave you a direct order! You don’t listen to me and my lectures and that’s fine, but this was a mission, Tony! You’ve been barely keeping yourself on your feet this entire week! You’re either gonna get yourself killed on the field or worse, someone else! I don’t want to see you anywhere near a battle until you’ve rested, eaten and gotten your act together!”

“Yeah? Then how about you back the fuck off, Rogers!” he spits into Steve’s face, all traces of amusement – fake, but still amusement – gone from his features.

I remember that look all too well from one week ago, when I’ve taken one too many steps towards the already panicked man. Back then I’ve written it off as circumstantial. But apparently he’s actually got enough reasons to flinch away from imposing supersoldiers.

And I’ve seen just about enough evidence.

“I will, when you - ” Steve starts, but to his own shock doesn’t get to continue.

I have found that a metal fist pushing against one’s neck usually has that effect on people. I have also found that trying to execute said move against a friendly in the presence of one Natasha Romanov usually ended up with me dodging a rain of daggers and snapping out of whatever rage-filled Soldier episode I’d be under at the time.

But this rage is all me and judging by the lack of daggers, Natasha must be thinking the same.

Steve stumbles back, the hand he’s been holding Tony with a second ago flies to my metal one still pushing him backwards, until I decide we’re far enough.

“Bucks, let me go, I’m just - ”

“I don’t care.”

“Buck - ”

“I. Don’t. Care,” I repeat with all the intimidation I can without really snapping into the Winter Soldier right here and there.

He stares at me, the anger dissipating in an instant. For the first time since I can remember, he’s not looking at me with concern, pity or disappointment. Just surprise, confusion…and little tiny bit of fear.

It should probably alarm me, but there’s no excuse for Steve’s behavior. Giving him a little taste of his own medicine might just work.

“Go cool off. Now,” I command, releasing him from my firm, but harmless grip.

Steve hangs on the spot for a moment, his widened eyes searching my face for…I’m not sure what. He probably doesn’t find it in the end and backs away and out of the room without a word.

I don’t know what I’d do if he didn’t. Or I don’t want to really think about it.

“Wow. Did you just send the Captain to his room to think about what he’s done like the naughty little kid he is?” Clint whistles and walks up to me, hand already up, expecting a high-five. He abruptly stops few feet away though, glancing at something behind me. “Right…well, I need a shower.”

“Splendid idea! Let’s go converse about today’s battle underneath the falling sprinkle!” Thor decides and goes ahead first.

“For real,” Sam nods when he sniffs at Clint, nose scrunched up.

“You’re not exactly smelling of roses yourself,” Clint retaliates and both bird men head for the elevator, fiercely glaring at each other the whole way.

I risk turning around, fearing whatever it was that stopped even Clint in his tracks, but there’s nothing to see, really. Tony has sat back on the stool, looking down at his fidgeting fingers with that scary, closed off expression.

Bruce’s expression is anything but closed off – his rage is carefully hidden behind his eyes and to anyone else, he looks just as calm as ever. Until you realize that angered spark is next to last thing one would see before he turns all green.

He gives me a tiny smile and a nod, his left hand resting on Tony’s forearm in a simple, comforting gesture.

I return the nod and dodging Natasha’s own searching squint, I leave the room as well. I’ll make sure Steve gets his shit together and Bruce will make sure Tony’s okay. Sounds fair enough.

Just gotta ignore that painful sting that stabbed at my chest as soon as I’ve seen the two sciencebros together. Haven’t felt that one in…decades.

And it freaks me the hell out.

 

 

 

“Sergeant Barnes? Sergeant?”

I stir from my usual limbo to the gentle sound of JARVIS’s purposefully lowered, but urgent voice. “Wh’t?” I slur, running a hand over my eyes, clearing my vision a little bit.

Did I fall asleep? I was reading this weird book about sparkling vampires and…oh wait. Yeah. That might be the reason why I fell asleep. Natasha did mention I shouldn’t read it past midnight unless I really wanted to sleep.

“If I could possibly bother you with a…request,” JARVIS continues in the same, uncertain but adamant tone that he only ever uses when something serious is going on that he can’t do anything about. A mission…or Tony.

“S’mthin’ wrong?” I discard the large book and stretch in the chair.

“Possibly…do not be alarmed, please. It is nothing life threatening I assure you, but…your assistance would be much appreciated. By me, that is.”

So it _is_ Tony. JARVIS always speaks in twisting riddles when his creator is concerned. Sometimes I don’t understand this dynamic they’ve got going. I suppose something in his code is preventing him from being straightforward about these matters – so he’s forced to improvise.  

“What is it, JARVIS?”

“Sir has – how do I put it. He deemed it necessary to use last resort means in order to sleep tonight.”

Well, that didn’t sound ominous at all. “Last resort? Where is he? What kinda la - ”

“He is drinking by the penthouse piano, Sergeant. Not excessively, yet, but he had only just begun.”

“Oh. I’m not sure how I can help you with that.”

“I would usually request Colonel Rhodes’s presence in such cases, but he is too far to make it here soon enough. I…would prefer if Sir was not alone.”

And that right there is why everybody likes JARVIS. Because JARVIS likes _everyone_. He’s proven on many occasions before he’d go through great lengths to make everybody’s life here the best experience possible. Even my own.

But let’s just say this pursuit of his intensifies a thousand fold when it comes to Tony. And I can’t argue with that at all.

“What’cha want me to do?”   

“Just keep him company.”

“I can do that,” I nod and get up, walking straight to the opening elevator. It’s a simple enough request, but... “Wouldn’t Bruce be a better choice though?”

“I believe given the current circumstances, Sir would appreciate you more than Dr. Banner,” JARVIS replies without hesitation, the raw honesty in his statement making me pause in my tracks for a second.

“Why?” I ask in a mere whisper, hand resting against the wall of the now moving elevator. Next to Colonel Rhodes, Bruce is Tony’s best friend when it comes to the Avengers. And me...I’m pretty much just a stranger.

“Because you understand,” he answers as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I let that sink in, while the elevator stops and opens on the floor I can’t say I’ve ever been on before. I often go to the roof, which is right above the penthouse, but the penthouse itself has always been taboo for me. Actually most of the Avengers.

It’s Tony’s sanctuary, much like the workshop. That makes it two places in the Tower I haven’t been in.

Or just one, now that I take a cautious step inside the spacious room. The lights are dimmed, but it isn’t hard to spot the engineer. He’s right where JARVIS said he would be – by the black concert piano next to the bar. One hand holding onto a bottle of brandy, the other ghosting over the black and white keys in some random melody.

It feels like I’m invading his privacy…technically, I am. Hopefully JARVIS was right or I might have to dodge a furiously hauled bottle of liquor.

Before I can decide how to best announce myself without startling him, his hand stills over the keyboard and the other extends toward me. It’s shaky and makes the golden liquid slosh in the bottle in wild audible waves.

“On second thoughts,” he looks at me with somewhat unfocused eyes, “why waste this expensive beauty on someone that can’t even get drunk.” The hand moves back to rest the bottle on Tony’s thigh and he squints at me. “ _Can_ you get drunk?”

Now that I think about it, I guess I can’t. If Steve can’t, then chances are it’s the same for me. I don’t remember HYDRA ever experimenting with this particular fact and the Soldier definitely didn’t go on any post-mission beers either.

“S’pose not,” I shrug, observing the surprisingly very sober man. He appears a bit hazy, but that could just be the exhaustion from however many hours he hasn’t slept for this time. “And I’m more of a beer guy anyway.”

He perks up at that, the squint disappearing. “Really? Where did you get your hands on a beer during the Great Depression?”

I chuckle and deeming it safe enough I walk slowly to the piano. “New York wasn’t all that big on prohibition you know? And by the time I could drink, prohibition was all but over anyway.”

Tony looks up in thought and nods. “Ah yeah…forgot,” he adds in a whisper and focuses back on the keys, not playing anything, just touching them curiously.

“There was this warehouse…I don’t really remember what it was called. I used to go there with a couple other fellas on the weekends to earn some money. Heavy liftin’ and stuff. Wasn’t much, but the manager always invited us for a pint after the shift. He was Irish I think...taught us all sorts of drinkin’ songs. And games.”

I smile at the memory. It’s so rare for me to recall something with enough detail to make a story out of it, but somehow all the drunken Saturdays just got back to me now.

I glance at Tony and catch him staring at me with a smile of his own.

“Drinking games? Now that’s more like it, Sergeant. And you said you wouldn’t know what to do when you can’t sleep,” he grins and puts the bottle up on the shiny surface of the piano, nudging it closer to me.

“S’not gonna work,” I poke the bottle and sigh. Can’t say I haven’t thought about it. But a drunken haze is a little too close to the dreamless abyss so yeah, I’d rather avoid that.

“Sucks.”

“How’s it workin’ for _you_?”

“Like magic! Can’t remember shit in the morning.”

“You don’t look very happy about it though,” I point out, leaning gently against the luxurious wooden instrument.

The grin slips away as his eyes travel down to the keys. “Isn’t exactly the best way to…how did your bestie put it? Rest and get my shit together? That. Contrary to everyone’s belief, I really _would_ prefer the usual way.”

“Yeah…sorry about him, by the way. That was way out of line. What he did.”

“Thought he was supposed to _fight_ the bullies, not be one of them,” he scoffs, playing a deep, dramatic accord.

Just as I imagined, he’s not really angry with Steve about what happened. He’s just quietly resigned about it.

And that’s just wrong.

I can be mad at my best friend for the both of us – and I am – but Tony should at least make it clear that leader or not, worried or not, Steve’s behavior was unacceptable. And if he wouldn’t listen, then he should explain what’s really going on underneath all the pretense of irresponsibility and recklessness.

Then again, same could be said for me. Even JARVIS suggested it. _Just tell them the truth_. Some things really are easier said than done.

I understand though. And only now I realize that I might be one of few that really do. We have the same kinda problem, with the added irony of wishing we could swap places.

To dream and not to dream.

I don’t really wanna deal with the others…explaining this to them, not even Steve. _Especially_ not him. But Tony understands just as much as I do and I can’t say that I mind. Not at all. It’s…nice to know there’s someone in here that I don’t have to hide under a mask from. Someone that goes out of his way to make things easier for me – and I will sure as hell do the same.

“You’re right. I told him as much so…he tries somethin’ like this again, I’ll deck him in the face hard enough he flies all the way back to Brooklyn.”

He looks at me, eyes wide and mouth forming an astonished ‘o’. “Sergeant Barnes! That’s your best friend you’re talking about!” he maintains the scolding expression for a second before breaking into a laugh. “I’d pay to see that actually,” he adds in a whisper.

“You won’t have to, if he ever decides to be an asshole again.”

He yawns, eyeing the bottle still discarded on the piano.

“You play?” I opt to change the subject – and divert his attention away from the brandy again.

He shakes his head, glaring at the keyboard. “I guess. Mom used to…she was good at it, too. She thought me how to play, but hey. Playing the piano isn’t really the trademark Stark forte. Didn’t get to practice much…so now I’m just abusing this poor thing with my lack of skill whenever I feel like waking up the neighbors with broken as fuck Chopin.”

“Can’t be the judge of that. Never heard your broken as fuck Chopin,” I shrug and consider it a win when Tony laughs in response and waves at the nearby chair, the bottle all but forgotten.

“Grab a front row seat then, Sarge!” he offers.

I walk over to the chair and take it, but before moving it closer to the piano and sitting down, something needs to be done with _this_. “You _can_ just call me Bucky, you know?”

“I will if _you_ will,” he turns around a little to look at me, hands folded.

“You want me to call you Bucky?”

“Don’t be cute,” he conjures up an angry pout. “Besides…Bucky’s like a name for a dog. What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking five of my schoolmates were James’ so…Buchanan…Barnes...they thought Bucky was clever.”

“ _For a dog_ ,” he repeats but has troubles keeping a smile from cracking his façade.

“Call me James then!” I flail and roll my eyes, trying not to indulge him too much.

“I already have a James friend,” he points out and looks thoughtful.

“You never call him James though.”

“Because it’s lame,” he mumbles and something sparkles in his hazy eyes, clearing them instantly. “For him I mean…James…sounds so old-fashioned. Might just be perfect for you,” he smirks and shuffles with the chair to a side a bit to make space for me.

“Dunno if I should be offended or not.”

“Definitely not. You will however be offended by _this_ ,” he points at the keyboard and starts playing something classical.

I suppose it’s the Chopin, but I’d never be able to tell anyway. It’s quick and melodic and…nice. So I just put the chair next to him, watching, listening.

By morning we’d moved to the couch to continue the random banter and eventually fall asleep.

And the dreamless slumber came again, only this time it didn’t feel _all_ wrong, for whatever reason.

* * *

 

It becomes sort of a thing with us. Me and Tony. Every now and then, whenever the exhaustion hits too hard, whenever sleeping and the dreams and the lack of dreams are too much to take, JARVIS makes sure we always find each other. He was subtle about it at first, thought he was being clever having us _coincidentally_ meet in the kitchen or gym or the roof.

Took us just few days to figure out the AI is most definitely plotting against us.

Or _for_ us, I suppose.

Since our impromptu meetings started, things got…better. Not great or perfect but _better_. No more falling asleep dreading what’s to come, no more waking up miserable and angry…I’m nowhere near okay but I think maybe, just maybe I _could_ be. Maybe there’s still a place for me in here. After the war, after HYDRA and the Winter Soldier…after seventy years living in my own personal nightmare I might be able to do something with my life after all.

Current goal number one? Make Clint stop stealing my favorite fruit loops!

“Yikes! Do you have your will sorted out bird brain?” Tony waltzes around me into the kitchen, looking between me and Clint. “Because if glares could kill…” he trails off, walking to the fridge.

Clint turns around, freezing when he spots me looming in the doorway. “What?!” he frowns at me, mouth full of my delicious –

“It’s the fruit loops, Katniss,” Tony hums.

“Wha-?”

“They’re mine,” I glare harder at the archer, who in turn widens his eyes.

“Th…they’re delicious,” he stutters.

“I know.”

“I’ll uh…buy some more! For both of us!”

“Yes, you will.”

He glances at Tony, who’s too busy searching for potential breakfast in the fridge to notice him. “O-kaaay.”

“Now.”

“Right,” he nods and bolts out of the kitchen.

“Well…that’s one way of getting rid of morning annoyances. Very handy. No pun intended,” he glances at me, eying the left hand for a second. “Making friends?”

“Clint’s cool,” I shrug. “Not cool enough to share these with him yet though.”

He watches me with eyebrows raised as I sit down where Clint’s been just moments ago, confiscating the bowl of deliciousness. “Looks like you’re okay with sharing,” he chuckles, picking a blueberry jam out of the fridge and grabbing a couple slices of bread from the counter.

I almost drop the spoon, making a double-take at what I’ve just witnessed. “Are you…making breakfast?!” I blurt out.

“I’m hungry.”

Only that never stopped him from not eating anything for _days_. Steve of course gave me the Tony Stark 101, thinking he could pass it off as an excuse for almost strangling the man. Almost made _me_ want to strangle _him_ , but after a quick notes comparison with Natasha I found he was mostly right about everything.

Barely sleeps, barely eats, is reckless in battles, doesn’t listen to anyone, makes jokes out of everything to dodge anything serious…still not an excuse for what Steve did. Luckily for Steve, he’s behaving himself lately so I won’t have to punch him anytime soon.

And…so is Tony. He’s still doped on coffee most of the time – he does like his coffee, alright – but doesn’t look like he’s just crawled out of his own grave.

Wait…was he humming a minute ago? He _was_.

Huh.

“Morning,” Natasha sneaks in, sitting opposite of me with a smirk.

“Nat,” Tony winks at her, finishes his PB&J’s and heads for the exit. “See ya around, James,” he adds on his way out.

“Sure.”

I gotta go for a run after this. Clear my head. Before…before I start thinking about something that’s _so_ not possible.

“ _James_?” Natasha snorts, smirk widening.

I glare at the spy, wishing it would have the same effect as it does on Clint. “S’ my name.”

“Yeeees. It is,” she purses her lips, eyes dangerously… _knowing_.

On second thoughts, I’m gonna go for the run _now_. I back out of the kitchen, noting that as soon as I’m three steps away from the table, the still half-full bowl of fruit loops once again changes owners.

Damn Natasha.

 

* * *

 

 

Tonight’s one of those nights. Nights I know I should go to sleep, but don’t want to at all. I don’t even have to tell JARVIS where to take me after I step into the elevator. It goes straight up, stopping at the penthouse.

Guess I’m lucky, because Tony would usually be in the workshop this early into the evening and I w –

And he’s asleep.

Right there on the couch, still wearing his ragged and dirty workshop clothing and his left hand holding onto a wrench.

“JARVIS?” I whisper, unable to hold back a smile.

“You may wake him up, Sergeant. He’s been asleep for five hours like this, which is sufficient for now,” he replies just as quietly.

The couch is comfy, but sleeping on it for too long isn’t exactly _comfortable_. And if he sleeps for too long, he delves too deep into whatever nightmare decides to pay him a visit.

I walk across the room without making a single sound. Every now and then I find a good use for all the assassin skills HYDRA bothered to train me. Moving silently like this comes in handy all the time – like this, on the battlefield…or if I want to scare Sam shitless when I catch him spying on Natasha. The dude couldn’t be more obvious if he tried. I told him that…and didn’t really appreciate the comeback.

“Look who’s talkin’, Sergeant _I’m-just-watching-Iron Man-for science_! Or whatever excuse _you’re_ making!”

Damn bird brains…

Crouching down next to the couch, I take a moment to observe the seemingly relaxed face of the man that would without a doubt be haunting my dreams by now – if I had any.

Maybe it’s for the best.

“Hey,” I try at first, but his peaceful face doesn’t even stir at the sound. Startling him awake would be as bad as letting him continue sleeping so I have to be as sneaky about it as I can. Taking my chances, I place my metal hand on his warm, flesh one, hoping the wrench it’s holding won’t deck me in the face next. “Wake up, Tony.”

It’s not exactly a smooth awakening, but with a sharp intake of breath and a slight jolt he opens his eyes, wide and wild for a moment.

“Sorry. J said nap time’s over so,” I smile at him, but it falters the instant I see the sheer terror in those brown eyes.

“S’okay,” he sits up, his PR face falling into place. “Didn’t wanna sleep anyway,” he yawns, looking down at our joined hands.

Crap.

I stand up, making it a subtle excuse to break the surely offending contact. The way his eyes sadly travel up with the motion confuse me enough to regret doing it immediately. “You a’right?”

“Hm? Sure,” he nods, frowning at the wrench he then places on the coffee table.

It’s the kinda ‘sure’ that makes me really restless and by me I mean whatever is left of the Winter Soldier somewhere down there. Steve used to say it, usually while his bony little face was all bloody and beaten, but ‘sure’ - he was okay.

Tony is not okay.

Whatever expression forms on my face must convey that message with absolute clarity, because he sighs and sits back against the back of the sofa.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he grumbles and it’s the closest thing to an admission of not being okay I’ll ever get from the man, if past experiences are anything to go by.

“Okay.”

“It’s…stupid,” he continues in a lowered voice. “Anyway. What brings you up here at this hour?”

“Tony, it’s just a lil’ over 6 PM.”

“It is?! Oh. So…wanna hang out?” he smiles, but the press façade is still at hundred percent.

“Yeah,” I return the smile, bright and honest.

His face falls all of a sudden. “Well, we’ve got about ten minutes. I totally forgot about Prague,” he mumbles, teeth gritted.

Ah. The International Astronomical Union thing. “I thought that was tomorrow.”

“It is. And I’m supposed to have a presentation on something that’s not even built yet!” he glares at the wrench. “Gotta go hit the workshop and do some hard core overnight inventing, just like old times. I’d tell you to come along but…”

“S’fine. Would only distract ya.” And freak out the second I stepped in there.

“You’ve got no idea…I mean,” he clears his throat and gets up, pacing around the couch. “It wouldn’t be a problem. Seriously. If you ever wanna try coming down there you can. Anytime. I’ve already trained DUM-E to make sure he wouldn’t be a bother…or spray you with a fire-extinguisher. Don’t ask, he’s got a fetish that one,” he explains with a snort, seeing my confusion.

“He sounds like fun. I’ll uh…I’ll think about it.”

“Sure. So…five minutes to go. Need a drink? Or a movie recommendation? You can stay here if you want. Or - ”

“Thanks. That’s alright. Gonna read something and go to sleep, I guess.”

He looks at me with the same ‘I see right through your bullshit’ look I used on him a moment ago.

“Fine! So it’s not alright…s’not like you can do anything about it. Or anyone, really.”

He hums in thought, eyeing the piano with what I can only guess to be determination. “Even if you can’t dream, you can occupy your mind with something, right? Imagine something? That’s what I try doing. To chase away the nightmares. Or the fear of them. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”

“It’s been workin’ lately, huh?”

He freezes…and is that a _blush_? Did Clint slip something into my tea? I’m seeing things now. Great. I’m gonna murder him.

“Yeah…kinda. Anyway. Thought I’d suggest it…in case it might work for you, too,” he shrugs.

“I tried, actually. My imagination suffered over the years, though. It just wouldn’t work for me.”

His lips twitch into a subtle, mischievous smirk and he moves to the piano. “Maybe we just need to give it some _incentive_.”

“I don’t think a little bit of Mozart is gonna help,” I roll my eyes, but he starts playing anyway.

And that’s _not_ Mozart. Or Chopin or Bach or whoever. I don’t really know anything about music, but I know this song.

Everyone born in the twenties knows this song. It would be playing in the background while you were slowly dancing with ya sweetheart and getting your first kiss. And second, third, and so on. I don’t remember a single dance or event where this didn’t play at least once.

The melody starts rolling and Tony hums along with it. He’s made it clear ain’t nobody’s gonna hear him sing, ever.

I move to my VIP chair – as he calls it – not sitting down, just next to it. Next to Tony.

The songs brings back good memories, that’s for sure. But I don’t understand how this is supposed to be some kinda incent –

Oh. _Oh_.

_...while I’m alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me..._

I thought the chair was the only thing capable of wiping my mind completely clean, but this right here manages to out-do it. I gape at the engineer, who’s still playing and humming the tune with a content smile, trying to make sense of what’s happening here.

By the time he’s done and rotates on the piano stool to look at me, my brain finally decides to cooperate and in a rare moment of clarity I return eighty years into the past to switch the _Bucky Barnes_ mode on. “Are you… _flirting_ with me in a song?”

He raises his eyebrows and for one single moment he looks shy. _Tony goddamn Stark_ looks _shy_. Before I can take that in, he’s back to that mischievous smile. “Too _High School Musical_ for you? Or not enough? Wait, you don’t know what that is, do you. Good, don’t ever let Clint bully you into watching it. Seriously, he’ll be sneaky about it and - ”

He goes on babbling in the speed of light about something something Clint, but all I heard was…the lack of a ‘no I’m not, you fool’ in that sentence. Not only didn’t he deny the flirting bit, he basically confirmed it. HYDRA spent seventy years trying to break me…and by the stunned, silly way I must look right now I guess this man succeeded in doing that in only five minutes.

“…so the question is, is it enough of an incentive for you to survive the night while I’m off to plot revenge against those damn astronomers for demoting Pluto? And yes, that’s the only reason I even agreed to the presentation. That and a chance to hit the pubs for some good beer. You’re a beer guy, right? I’ll bring you some. There’s one called ‘Demon’…and it tastes exactly as the name suggests – deviously good. Only they don’t bottle it…oh well, I’ll bring the whole cask! Uh…you okay?”

I shake my head a little, trying some sorta hard reset or somethin’ before he calls 911. “You…you’ve just told me…in a _song_ to… _dream_ of _you_ ,” I sum it up, more for myself than anyone else, really, because his growing smirk is telling me he knows all too well what he’s said and what it means.

He shrugs, raising a challenging eyebrow. “The song’s telling you to do a lot of things, actually. I don’t remember all the lyrics, but I’m pretty sure at one point there’s something about saying nighty night and kissing and holding tight. I guess we can skip that – even though that’s my favorite bit – and you can just tell me you’ll miss me, go do the dreaming part and we can revisit the rest tomorrow after I crush that presentation.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that the million questions flooding my brain disperse into thin air this instant. He’s dead serious. He’s…deadly seriously flirting with me. _With_. _Me_.

As if reading every word of my inner dilemma, his cocky smile eases into this gentle little quirk of lips I’ve only ever seen him use…well…with me…and stands up. Taking two swift steps right into my personal space he grabs both my arms in a gentle hold and leans close enough his lips brush against my left ear. “How does that sound to your imagination?” he whispers in a tone that is probably just as innocent as Clint’s apologetic pout. _Not at fucking all_.

I finally manage to will my head to move and lock gazes with the engineer, his eyes more alive than I’ve ever seen them. And I have been paying special attention to them lately, alright?

I’m not the Bucky Barnes of old…he would definitely do something more than just _imagine_ things right now. But HYDRA and all the fuckery it’s put me through be damned – the Bucky Barnes I am now is NOT out of the game yet. I still know how to play it. So I will.

Finding the courage to put one of my very own smirks on, I return the gentle hold, place my hands – flesh and metal – on his hips and lean closer to whisper as well: “I’ll miss you.”

Not at all innocent – voice or hands.

And now that I’ve said what he suggested, I’m gonna go and _do_ what he suggested as well. So I take a few steps backwards, memorizing that partly satisfied, vulnerable and partly something-else-entirely way he’s watching me right now and turn around, walking back to the elevator.

It’s already here and opening, but I decide to give into the swirling curiosity after all. “Is that what _you’ve_ been doing lately?” I glance back at the now openly grinning man. “Dreaming of me?”

He shrugs. “Maaaaaybeeee…? Although, _lately_ is a bit…inaccurate, to be honest.”

Day one hundred of discovering useful Winter Soldier abilities – the ability to maintain eye contact with a stone cold, unreadable expression despite a volcano of emotions is exploding in my head. That’s right, HYDRA, I’m about to utilize seventy years worth of your training efforts not to assassinate people, but _flirt with Tony Stark_.

So while I leave my already wild mind deal with Tony’s revelation, I back into the elevator, watching him – and him watching me – until the doors slide shut and JARVIS automatically moves it down to my floor.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, I have already downloaded the song to your StarkPad music library,” he answers before I can even ask.

That just goes to show how brilliant the AI is. Like father like son. But there’s one more th –

“I have also taken the liberty of including a full version of Sir’s instrumental performance of the song. There is also one where he sings along, but I wouldn’t recommend it for listening-before-sleeping purposes. But if you are ever feeling down and in need of a good laugh then it is available to you as well.”

Okay…there’s a fine line between brilliance and actual mind reading. Gotta watch out for this one.

I go through my evening routine and when I’m all clean and tucked in, I put the piano piece on repeat. The volume is gentle enough to be almost soothing and it doesn’t really take long to be lulled to sleep by it, the melody going on and on in the background until morning.

  

* * *

 

 

“Before you murder me, I did _not_ eat your fruit loops!” Clint throws a disclaimer my way as soon as I enter the kitchen.

I glare at him – and Sam, Steve and Natasha too, for good measure – not believing a word of it. When I make it to the cupboard I indeed find the box of fruit loops completely empty and just left in there as evidence of the unforgivable deed.

A mocking, teasing gesture. Oh when I find who’s done it I will…nevermind. Bird brain is lucky, because this fine early morning I am in a very good mood.

So I might not have dreamt last night, not really. But the events of the evening kept replaying in my head – with the added bonus of my not so brain-dead imagination throwing in a little bit of…somethin’ to keep my mind occupied for a while, that’s for sure.

“For once, Katniss isn’t lying,” Tony materializes in the doorway, ready to storm the conference, fancy suit and all.

That fancy suit however wouldn’t stay there very long…courtesy of my imagination.

“ _For once_? What’s that supposed to mean?!” Clint pouts, glaring at a suspiciously amused Natasha.

“How do _you_ know he’s not lying?” I narrow my eyes at Tony, trying my usual intimidating look but god! Is that difficult to do to _him_. When he’s all suited-up and grinning and…what aftershave is that?! Without a doubt designed to torture me.

“Why, James, isn’t that obvious?” he beams and brings an empty bowl he’s been hiding behind his back into view. “ _I_ know, because _I_ ate them.”

Clint chokes on air, eyes bulging out. “You’ve got a death wish?!”

“What’s going on?” Steve frowns in clear confusion, looking between the all of us.

Tony only grins more, setting the bowl on the table next to Clint. “Sharing is caring,” he shrugs, raising just one eyebrow in quite the practiced fashion.

I couldn’t agree more…but he’s not getting away that easily. “Well in that case…” I turn around and pour myself the remaining _Stark Potion of Life_.

The way Tony’s grin breaks and molds into absolute horror in a second as I bring the cup to my lips almost makes me burst into laughing. Him and his coffee, seriously…

I torture him but a moment longer, before offering the untouched cup to him. “Sharing is caring, huh,” I smile but narrow my eyes immediately. “Some things I’m _not_ gonna share. Just so you know.”

He takes the cup, pouting. “Good. Me neither.”

“Speaking of sharing!” Clint ruins the moment by jumping between us, putting his hand around my shoulders, leaning close with his patented smirk of conspiracy. “I’ve heard all about Nat’s ninja dream, Steve’s weird _riding on the subway_ dream…so, your turn!”

“You dreamt about riding on the subway? The fuck?!” Tony turns his attention to Steve, who’s still blinking between us like we’ve just erased his brain or something.

“I’ve had…you could call it a dream I suppose,” I tell Clint, leaning against the counter behind me. “I dreamt a little dream of a little someone. Well…not so little now that I think about it.”

“Eeeeyyy! Now we’re talking dirty, metal man!” Clint exclaims, hitting my metal upper-arm with his fist. “Tell me _everything_!”

I lock gazes with Tony, who is back to grinning like a mad man. “Not sharin’ that with you, bird brain. And what are you lookin’ at? Go, you’ve got to avenge Pluto and get back here with the beer.”

“Bossy…I’ll be off then. Behave, boys…and ninja,” he gives Natasha a courtesy bow and with a wink my way, he walks out of the room.

I can’t help but watch his retreat – very closely – and it seems to be the last straw for Stevie, who definitely noticed, with all his confused staring.

“Did you just…never mind. I’ll be in the gym,” he shakes his head and all but runs away.

With sudden wave of clarity I didn’t think my brain would ever be capable of again, I realize it should really be me running out of the room.

I should be flinching out of Clint’s bro half-hug, I should be freaked out by yet another one of his dream questions and I should most definitely be even more freaked out by the fact that _I am not_.

Not flinching away, not freaking out, not running away.

A man can’t afford any of that while on a flirting mission with Tony Stark. And said flirting mission needs more…research. JARVIS will help, I think.

Looks like I’m just gonna have to wait until the evening for…the man of my dreams. And make sure I’m a man of _his_ dreams as well and not the nightmares.

And I have plenty of incentives on my mind for that.

_Fin_


End file.
